


Together Into the Darkness

by athenasdragon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: When Dís Aeducan supports Alistair as King, he feels that it is his duty to end things between them. Will his regret and her determination bring them back together?Set ambiguously pre-Battle of Denerim.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonsofmahal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonsofmahal/gifts).



> This is a VERY late birthday gift for my dear friend sonsofmahal, featuring her Warden, Dís. Love ya. <3 Please excuse the ambiguous/inaccurate time frame on this, it's not that essential to the story.

Alistair’s heart sank into his stomach as the door thumped shut behind him.

“What have you done?” he whispered to himself, shoulders slumping. Dís’s muffled voice came through the door. Zevran responded in low tones. Alistair walked away quickly, not wanting to confront the Crow’s protective wrath.

The hallways of Redcliffe castle bustled with servants and soldiers preparing for the march to Denerim. One man rushed past balancing a pile of hastily-crafted wooden shields, stacked so high he could barely see over them. An elven woman with a bundle of laundry under her arm pushed by Alistair, apparently not realizing that she was jostling the man who would soon be King of Ferelden. Alistair couldn’t have cared less.

Suddenly, Wynne appeared around a corner, nearly crashing into Alistair. “Oh! You should be more careful where you’re going, young man.” She stopped when she saw the morose expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Alistair wanted nothing more than to push past to his quarters, but Wynne had always been kind to him—intentionally embarrassing, but kind. She deserved some kind of answer.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

Wynne frowned. “Alistair, you’ve dedicated yourself to a noble cause. It’s natural to be afraid, but the Blight is bigger than any of us. As is Ferelden.”

“No, no, I don’t mean that.” Alistair drew a hand over his face. “I’ve upset Dís, and I’m not sure it was the right decision.”

“What did you do, break up with her?”

Alistair looked down.

“Oh, Alistair, why?”

He laughed bitterly. “I’m to be King—at her insistence! And as such, I’ll need a Queen who can bear me heirs.”

“And Dís can’t…?”

“We’re both Grey Wardens. I don’t even know that it’s possible.”

“You don’t know? You ended your relationship over an uncertainty?” Wynne glared at Alistair. “You’re sure it’s not because she’s a dwarf? Because that would be quite the advantageous alliance.”

“No! Maker, no. It just seems like the… mature decision.”

“Hmm.” Wynne pressed her lips into a thin line. “It’s rash, is what it is. You’re making decisions before you even know what kind of situation you’ll be in.”

Alistair sighed. “Wynne, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your advice, but it’s done. I’d very much like to get to bed.”

Wynne reluctantly moved to the side. “It’s not finished yet. Think carefully about your decisions. They affect more than just you—now more than ever.” And she disappeared down the dark hallway.

It only took a few minutes to reach his quarters; he had been close. When he did, Alistair collapsed face-down on his bed, enjoying the cool press of the blankets against his cheek. He swallowed heavily. He was exhausted, yes, but his stomach was tied in knots over the expression on Dís’s face as he had left the room.

Eventually he forced himself to stand and remove his armor. He cursed as he fumbled with a buckle. Dís had always helped him in camp, even before they were together—after that first night when he had caught his gauntlet on a strap behind his back, flushed and silent as Morrigan laughed herself breathless. Dís had emerged from her tent to see what the problem was, eyes tired and gait stiff, and had silently led him away from the mirthful apostate to help him slip out of his mail. Alistair had sensed that she was pushed almost to the snapping point, so he maintained the silence, but the next night she appeared again, this time smiling softly.

A piece of his heavy plate armor clanged to the floor and startled Alistair out of his reverie. He scowled and clawed at the remaining straps until the rest fell away, leaving him standing in mud-spattered trousers and a stained shirt.

“How kingly,” he said drily, looking down at himself.

He took the time to splash some water from the basin onto his face. Someone had lain out a fresh change of clothes, so he peeled off his grimy ones and donned the clean. They smelled of strong soap. The pants were barely too short; the sleeves were slightly tight around his arms. Still, it was better than sleeping in filth.

Alistair wondered if Dís was asleep yet. He pictured her brushing out her hair from its two braids and plaiting it down her back. He wondered if the servants had given her clothing meant for a human woman. Perhaps she had to roll up the legs so that she would not trip. The thought made him smile to himself, in spite of everything.

The worst thing about parting ways was the knowledge that Dís would be perfectly fine without Alistair. She was always the one who had supported him, who had comforted him after Duncan’s death. She had led their little party and made the difficult decisions. He had never heard her mourn her life in Orzammar, even when they had met Gorim in Denerim, and he had no doubt that she would live a prosperous life on the surface, whatever direction she chose once the Blight had ended.

It was Alistair who would doubt his decision for the rest of his days, and Alistair who would look to her guidance at court only to find her notably absent.

With these thoughts, he crawled beneath the covers of his bed. He felt almost sick. This was why he shouldn’t be King, he thought. Even personal decisions left him shaking and unsure. Still, he was exhausted from their long journey to Redcliffe—even more so when he contemplated the march they would begin back to Denerim in so few hours. He sank unwillingly into a restless sleep.

* * *

 

Alistair was awakened by a frantic knocking, and he knew somehow that it was much earlier than it should be. He sat bolt upright. “What is it?”

Zevran slipped in, silent and nearly invisible despite the dim candle he held. “It’s Dís.”

Alistair cradled his head in his hands. “Maker, Zevran, I feel fool enough already. Can’t this wait until morning?”

“No, not that!” The elf shook his head. “But make no mistake, I have plenty to say on that subject. No, she is yelling in her sleep, like she did some nights in camp. Her door is locked.”

Alistair pulled back the covers and put his feet on the floor, wincing at the cold of the stone. “You tried to wake her up?”

“No luck.”

“Did you try picking the lock?”

“Ah.” Zevran hesitated. “The castle locks are…slightly beyond my skill.”

Alistair sighed. “All right.”

He followed Zevran back through the winding corridors of the castle. Soon enough, he could hear Dís’s cries, and he sped to a jog until he came to her locked door.

“Dís!” He knocked loudly. “Dís, wake up, you’re dreaming!”

Dís let out a terrified scream. Alistair turned helplessly to Zevran, who shook his head, eyes wide. “What can we do?”

Alistair frowned. “We have to get to her. We have to wake her up.” He pushed at the door, and it rattled slightly but did not budge. “Stand back.”

“Is that wise?” Zevran asked when he realized what Alistair meant to do. He took several generous steps back.

“’Wise’ has never been my strong suit.” Alistair placed his shoulder against the door, testing the angle, then stood back and rammed into it. Something splintered, but the door remained closed. He threw himself into it again, then a third time, and finally the wood cracked and the door burst open. “You stay here. Someone will have to explain this to the guards when they arrive.”

Zevran nodded and handed Alistair the candle. “I’ll do my best.”

The wavering light did little to illuminate Dís’s chamber, but Alistair remembered it from earlier in the evening. The bed was ahead and to the left. A large shape stirred and Dís’s mabari Misty stepped into the light, growling softly, but when the beast saw Alistair it huffed and wagged its tail.

“Dís?” Alistair asked again, and a figure beneath the bedsheets stirred, but still did not awake. He set down the candle on the table by her head and reached across to gently grasp her arm, shaking as it was.

Dís bolted upright, dagger in hand. Her wild eyes landed on Alistair’s face in time for her to stop the blade’s motion towards his arm, and her breath came out in a shaky sigh. “The door was locked,” she croaked.

Withdrawing his hand slowly, Alistair offered up a smile. It nearly reached his eyes. “You were having nightmares again. Zevran was worried; he brought me here, and I may have, er,” he broke off, gesturing at the now-crookedly hanging door.

“Ah.” Dís placed the dagger down next to the candle in a motion that was incredibly dignified, considering her situation. “How noble of you.”

Alistair winced. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just—I know in camp you were troubled by the dreams from the Darkspawn. Maker, I forget sometimes that your Joining was just months ago. So much has happened. And I thought—thought that you might appreciate being awoken.”

Dís slumped. “Do you know how troubling it is, never to dream all your life, and then suddenly to be plagued with nightmares? It’s indescribable, to seek solace in sleep after a day of danger only to be attacked through the night as well.” She looked at Alistair, her face slightly softer. “I do appreciate returning to this world, despite today’s—despite recent events.”

More than anything, Alistair wanted to reach out and fold her into his arms. They had always taken it in turns: whichever was awoken first by their nightmares would shake the other awake and embrace them, each taking solace in the other’s presence. But tonight was different. His hands twitched to feel her hair, to lace his fingers with hers, but he had made his choice.

“You don’t look ecstatic either,” Dís commented, somehow reading his miserable expression in the near-darkness. “Nightmares of your own?”

“No,” he responded honestly, then snapped his teeth together. What kind of monster would he be, to end things with her and then burden her with his regret? “Just restless. Not looking forward to returning to Denerim, but certainly looking forward to this all being over.”

Dís reached out to him, then, and the gentle brush of her hand over his made him want to cry. “Courage, Alistair.”

“Courage was always your strength. I just follow where you go. I wish that could continue,” he added, the words pouring out this time before he could stop them. “Dís, I need you to know that my choice today—it’s not a reflection of you, I love you more than my own life, but if I’m to be King I must make sacrifices—”

“What?”

“Sacrifices, as King. They’re necessary.”

Dís shook her head forcefully, as though both to disagree and to clear it. “No, I mean… you love me?”

Alistair gaped at her. “I—yes, of course. Haven’t I said?”

“No,” Dís murmured thoughtfully. “You haven’t.” She looked up at his tortured expression. “Alistair, sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice does no one any good. You know I will defer to your judgment, but…” She sighed. “Perhaps it’s my own attachment, but I cannot see any benefit to ending things between us. We have no way of seeing what the future holds. Anything could change in a heartbeat. And I would be very interested to see where things lead—together.” She looked down at the end of this speech, as though embarrassed by the show of emotion.

“You—really? After everything?”

Dís smiled at her lap. “After everything.”

Alistair reached out, almost disbelieving, and she leaned into his touch when his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking, too. I think I may have been rash. I think that it would certainly be… nice… to explore the future together.” He managed a smile, his face flushed and burning.

In one motion, Dís moved over so that she could curl into Alistair’s side. He wrapped his arm around her tightly. They lay like this, silent, for a minute, each secretly awash with relief at the other’s continued affection.

“My friends!” a voice hissed from the doorway, and they both startled upright. Zevran’s head peered around the corner. “I’m pleased at your reconciliation, but you ought to know that the guard is approaching. Probably in response to the disturbance of the door breaking.”

Dís groaned and slid to the floor. “I’ll speak to them. You should get some sleep, Zevran. There are many miles yet to travel.”

“Very well!” The assassin withdrew, grinning mischievously. “Just as long as you two get some sleep as well.”


End file.
